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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26187925">Sangsu Station</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultmyouimina/pseuds/ultmyouimina'>ultmyouimina</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TWICE (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:47:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26187925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultmyouimina/pseuds/ultmyouimina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sana, Momo, and a little bit of serendipity.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hirai Momo/Minatozaki Sana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>#GGFLASHFIC</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sangsu Station</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoC2a3-3mms">heres the song that inspired this!</a>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sana first meets Momo in a train station. Momo who is bleeding from four knuckles, who is gingerly resting sore hands atop her knees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She frowns when a drop of condensation slides down the can of soda in Momo's hand. It splatters on the thin canvas of her shoes and Sana thinks that maybe if she concentrates enough on the impact she can feel it through her socks right down to the bone of her pinky toe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Momo doesn't seem to notice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sana clears her throat, feet shuffling further away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm really sorry," Momo looks down then and gushes with embarrassment, snatching her hands away from Sana's side of the bench, apologetic even when Sana laughs it off and waves a piece of tissue in her face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's okay. Here," she offers, nodding at Momo's hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Momo accepts the tissue. Balls it up and swipes it haphazardly against her torn knuckles. Sana clicks her tongue disapprovingly at the lack of gentleness with which Momo tends to her wounds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So what happened," she asks conversationally. There's four minutes before the train arrives and Momo's impatient feet have begun tapping an erratic beat on the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I fell," Momo explains. Fiddles with the bloody tissue. Looks down at her legs instead of the stranger beside her wearing a brown coat. Tries to be still. Starts tapping again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sana laughs, a high giggle. Her fingers twitch towards Momo's injured hand before stopping its course. They draw back, curling once more into a shell of clasped hands, polite and non-intrusive. "You fell on your knuckles?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Momo hums. It says </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don't want to talk about it</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Sana wonders when she learned to read the body language of a girl she met five minutes ago, because this is intimacy not found on a crowded train station platform but in a shared bed after a shared dinner in a shared home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don't talk about it anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We need twelve hugs a day for growth, Momo learns at the age of seventeen. And she laughs at the Google page she's reading.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the third date with Sana, she receives thirteen hugs and something in her chest grows light.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's a turtle," Sana corrects, and all Momo does in response is stick out her tongue in a very Momo-esque manner. "Tortoises are land animals."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fine," Momo is huffing and pouting, straw hat trembling dangerously against the sea breeze. "The </span>
  <em>
    <span>turtle </span>
  </em>
  <span>over there is digging a hole in the sand."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is sand on the back of her knees and Momo's arms draped over her shoulder. There is a sea turtle scrabbling in the sand ten feet away from where they sit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sana meets Momo and it's like the world stops.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or maybe it aligns, little coincidences shifting gears into place in the grand scheme of things. Like how she was running late that day at the train station, or how Momo's knuckles were bloody from who-knows-what.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Momo is eating strawberries now, dipping them in sugar because she claims it's too sour to eat by itself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sana is sticking a reminder to the fridge that they have to wrap the tree ferns before winter or they'll freeze to death.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You should hold my hand," Momo complains. The sun is dipping low behind the horizon now. A songbird sings sweetly as they pass under its tree.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sana reaches out, laces their fingers together and catches Momo into the infinity of her hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They should know better, but they don't.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rain drums down on the tarp above their heads, Momo grumbling again about how her favourite socks are wet and that her shoes make squelching sounds. Sana rubs at her waist placatingly, and she squirms about, toes wiggling in wet socks in wet sneakers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She suggests that they sing a song, bracing herself for the rejection that she thinks will come. Instead, Momo looks her in the eye and smiles delightedly, already humming the first melody that pops into her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mornings are hard on the both of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Mmmmmhgmgghgm," Momo says, face nestled into the crook of Sana's warm neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's all indecipherable groaning and whining, but Sana has long since learned the language of Momo's sleepy talk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I love you too," she giggles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She's blushing strawberry red as Momo twirls her around in the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Momo had come in looking for a can of soda from the fridge, but the song playing from Sana's phone speakers distracted her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's our wedding song!" she trills, perking up and grabbing her wife's slender wrist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sana and Momo have built their lives upon a series of bets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I bet you won't drive me to my pilates class," Sana says, and Momo rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Bet you won't buy me lunch," she counters. Sana scoffs. She's already grabbing her wallet as Momo picks the car keys out of the bowl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are moments of relief, in her and in Sana.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moments like Sana's head against her chest, her heart thudding out a steady rhythm to fall asleep to. And there's sunlight streaming in, the five o' clock news playing in the background and Momo reading about the tallest man in the world meeting the smallest man in the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sana stirs, mumbles Momo's name, and she finds herself praying this will last forever.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry if you were baited by the beginning.. there is absolutely no plot here!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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